


sexy, crazy, slightly bruised

by Indigotuesday



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M, Polyamory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-01
Updated: 2012-07-01
Packaged: 2017-11-13 14:31:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/504492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Indigotuesday/pseuds/Indigotuesday
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes being famous is really, really stressful. It's probably good Liam is in a band - he couldn't handle this by himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	sexy, crazy, slightly bruised

**Author's Note:**

> For a prompt tamzinrose posted on the angstmeme that goes, " _Sleep deprived boys being exhausted and overly emotional about stupid things, feeling pathetic and having clinging cuddles._ "

Liam is halfway convinced they’ve never had a longer day, although he knows it’s not true. It’s not just the day, it’s this whole week, month, year. If this would an interview he’d say something pandering about how god damn grateful he is, and some of the time he feels it too. Just not right now. He wants to press pause on life, crawl under the covers, and stay there for an age. The mere presence of the others is daunting, it’s like he has prickly tendrils spread through the room stemming from his brain. Each time someone moves or speaks they brush one and it’s so irrationally grating. He wants to kick Louis in the head for asking how much longer the ride back to the hotel is, and the way Zayn is tapping his foot makes Liam want to scream until everyone goes away and leaves him alone.

Tears prickle at the back of his eyes when they’re told they’ll be sharing a suite and he feels like a spoiled kid. Then it feels like he blinks and he’s sitting in the room, memorizing the pattern of the rug, which looks identical to every other hotel rug on the continent. Niall’s ‘cooking’ in the dinky kitchenette, slicing a loaf of bread with a disproportionately large knife. Liam feels morbidly clairvoyant, because he knows its going to happen a few seconds before it does. Niall is slicing toward his hand (Liam has told him not to) and then he’s clutching it to his chest, curling over it, making a broken surprised noise. It goes straight to Liam’s heart, and he’s at Niall’s side before he can even think. He pries Niall’s hand away and there’s blood, god there’s blood. On Niall’s hand, saturating his palm, there’s a pretty substantial amount of blood. Liam is thinking at half speed, like his thoughts are swimming through molasses.

Niall looks down at his hand, bemused, and then up at Liam, expectant. Liam has no idea what to do, and he should, he should know. He has first aid training. But he can’t remember a thing, and there’s blood dripping on the stupid predictable carpet. Niall’s looking at him with his wide blue eyes, Liam knows, although he can barely tear his eyes away from Niall’s hand, cradled in his own. Then his eyes are clouding, and when he blinks a tear drips down his face. He’s crying then, awkward loud gulping sobs. Niall immediately starts making comforting clucking noises, murmuring, “It’s okay, Liam. I’m okay, it doesn’t even hurt. Liam, I’m alright.” He lowers Liam to the floor, floppy like a rag doll, and Liam vaguely registers that he’d been putting too much of his weight on the smaller boy. That just makes him cry harder, and he can feel his face flushing red as he takes staccato breaths. Zayn is at his side then, kneeling next to him, and loosening the hold he has on his own knees.

Louis is helping Niall, wrapping a hotel washcloth around his hand. Liam wants to tell him not to, that it might not be sanitary. He can’t though, all he can do is bury his face in Zayn’s shoulder, tighten his iron grip on the other boy’s hand. Zayn squeezes back just as hard, and Liam can almost breathe. He doesn’t know how long he stays like that, attempting to calibrate his hitching breaths to the steady rhythm of Zayn’s across his cheek. A glass of water appears in front of him the next time he looks up, and Harry hands it to him and then presses an asprin into his palm. Liam always gets a headache after crying, and they know him well. Zayn nudges him until he sits all the way up, and then Niall crawls across the floor from where he’d been cuddled against Louis to settle in Liam’s lap. He holds up his hand, crossed diagonally by white gauze. “See, Li. All better,” he whispers. Liam presses a kiss to the surface of the bandage, drawing a giggle from Niall. The blonde boy snuggles into Liam’s shoulder and he drops his head into the other boy’s hair. Liam feels wrung out, but remarkably calm, almost detached.

He just sits there, focussing on Niall in his arms. He registers Zayn and Harry dragging pillows and blankets over, arranging them in a rough circle shaped nest around the cuddling pair. In response to Niall’s questioning look, Harry says, “Beds are too small. Lou went to get more from housekeeping.”

Soon they're ensconced in the white fluffy linens, not the top blankets because Liam thinks they’re yucky. Niall is laying half on top of Liam and he’s grateful for the opportunity to feel the other boy’s whole, safe, solid, weight. Zayn has curled into his other side, reaching across him to cup Niall’s hip. Harry and Louis has arranged themselves on either side of the other three like human parentheses, curling in to hold hands and tangle feet. “I love you, all of you. So much.” Liam says quietly, voice hoarse with exhaustion and tears. There is no audible response, but all around him warm bodies come in impossibly closer, surrounding him in the best way.  



End file.
